Liberté, égalité, fraternité!
Oh, you noble Karmaites, champions of the little guy, protectors of the weak, bringers of hope, scourge of the strong. Imagining yourselves the creators of a new world, free from tyranny, where might no longer makes right, where nations do not have to live in fear of attack, where conflict is not a matter of mere chance, and where war is reserved rightfully for the deserving. Such sentiment, such morality, is it not your greatest strength? Is it not what binds you together as a whole in the face of such fierce internal contradictions?
But wait, what's this? Someone has stepped out from the crowd. A small, introverted figure, his old tattered cap grasped firmly in both hands, he contrasts starkly with the prestigious crowd. Did a tramp wander in off the street, or did one of the help get lost? Wait, no, it's the little guy! And he's taking to the stage! Come to cheer forth the Karmaites, perhaps? To pledge a meagre donation of gold and weapons to aid the cause? No, he comes with all that he has, words.
Thunderous applause rips round the auditorium as he makes his way across to roars of 'Liberté!', 'Egalité!', 'Fraternité!' The shuffling figure at the front stops and steps up to the podium. The Karmaites notice a small red badge, symbolising his home in the red sphere, Pacifican territory. The room erupts once more, a standing ovation, cries of 'Free Red!' ring around the hall. Finally, eager to hear the voice that they fought so hard to liberate, the noise dies down, and the figure at the front moves to speak. His mouth opens, his meek voice barely carrying the disproportionately large stage that he has cautiously dared step upon. He speaks for a way of life, simple, independent, peaceful and prosperous. He speaks for thousands like him, his neighbours, friends and colleagues. He speaks of the war and what it means to him, outside the power structures and institutions of global politics. He speaks of freedom.
The room sours. Who is this young upstart? What are his credentials, his relevance? Noticing that the gentle nods have been replaced by and angry glances, the figure continues. He speaks of freedom from unprovoked attack, freedom to enjoy his simple life without being crushed under the mighty weight of another at a whim, freedom to pursue his interests unhindered, freedom to continue with life as it was.
Outrage! Heated discussion erupts across the hall. How dare this uppity unaligned tell us what to do! Doesn't he know who he's talking to? The odd shout begins to rise above the base. 'Tyrant!' cries one, 'Oppressor!' howls another, 'Agent of the Pacific!' accuses a third. The figure looks on stoically and moves to speak again. Does Karma not fight for freedom from attack and from fear? For a world where might no longer makes right? So many, like he, came to red to experience such blissful freedom, and so they did. Would Karma seek to destroy such a sanctuary?
But it's too late. Already the Karmaites have cast aside their sentimentality. Sitting atop of the world their vision has been widened, and the words of this commoner, this plebeian, no longer ring true. He is not trying to free himself from these things, he is trying to enslave us! By suggesting that the little guy should be protected he is instituting himself as a world police! By suggesting that he should be free to live in peace he is attempting to dictate our policies! Who can decide who attacks whom? We cannot label one attack wrong and another right, for it is dependent on the individuals involved and only them! Who else can decide what is a valid reason to attack, it is purely subjective! Freedom goes for everything, freedom to attack and freedom to be attacked!
The stoic expression on the figure's dishevelled face begins to break as he realises the psychological process before him. But what about the thousands of nations that will be ravaged, the dozens of alliances destroyed, the many friends and rulers that disappear from our world altogether! Many in the audience can be seen waving their hands to dismiss the now despised figure. What of them? They should have learned to protect themselves, or submitted to the politics of another by becoming a protectorate. And in any case, what do these people matter, they aren't one of us, a NAAC or a LUE. They're lucky we don't just wipe them out and be done with it! A man stands up in the audience, and the hall quietens expecting a lecture on the universal nature of rights, as the Karmaites have become so accustomed to. But instead they are greeted with something new; something short, concise and powerful: "Planet Bob will never be tailor suited after your needs and desires. Get over it." The man is mobbed by those around him, seeking to pat his back and shake his hand.
The lonely figure on stage, now long forgotten as the hall breaks into a rampant military anthem, reflects. So suddenly has the morality of man become the morality of god within this group; so suddenly has freedom for all men become freedom only for the self-appointed divine to act as they please at the expense of the rest. No longer is morality based on opposition to the ruling structure, on freedom from tyranny, but instead on reshaping the world in a form that suits the politico-economic strategy of the new ruling structures, neglecting or destroying all that lies without. Power may or may not corrupt, but it always changes one's perspective, and the perspective of the newly powerful has little room for him. He makes one last speech, unheard, but unmistakable in its clarity.
Oh, you noble Karmaites, champions of the strong, protectors of oppression, bringers of despair, scourge of the weak. Imagining yourselves the creators of a new world, free from petty sentimentality, where might makes right, where nations must forever watch over their shoulder, where conflict may come at any time, and where war is reserved rightfully for those who cannot defend themselves. Such nobility, such mastery of power, is it not your greatest strength? Is it not what binds you together as a whole in the face of such fierce internal contradictions?
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